Twenty minutes into driving on Hwy 65 the other day, Princess Twinkie and I hear a loud “POP.”
I look at my windshield.
Sure enough there it was… the dreaded dime shaped spider webbed crack.
“Oh my God, mom, what happened?” The Princess asked in obvious disbelief.
“We just got hit by a rock.” I said calmly.
“Our windshield is cracked! WHAT? HOW? What are we going to do? That’s gonna take a lot of money to replace it hu?” she asked, still panicked at the sight of the crack.
“Hopefully they can just repair it” I replied. I called my sister since we were on our way to her house and asked her to find me a windshield repair place that opened on Saturdays. I didn’t want to wait until Monday in case it spread.
The calmness in my voiced reassured my daughter that it wasn’t a big deal as long as it was handled promptly. We continued on Hwy 65 without any more worries. Her listening to her iPod, and me in deep thought.
I started to think about the last time I had something come at me like that and causing similar damage. It was back in 1996. I was living in McFarland and working in Porterville.
I was driving along, lost in thought, enjoying nature and the calmness of life surrounding me. I was admiring the different type of birds on the side of the road, some in groups, circling each other as if they were innocent little kids playing their childhood games.
Then BAAAAAAAAAAAM. One of the birds hit my windshield head on. He looked right at me, it’s beak bent, it’s little face tightly compressed up against my windshield. It was as if life slowly drained out of it right before my very eyes. I screamed. And I cried. It looked at me with it’s beady little eyes as if saying, “Why? Why did you kill me? Murderer!”
It finally slid down the windshield and rolled off with a few thumps, leaving behind a small crack on the windshield in remembrance of my actions.
“Oh my God!” I thought, “my first animal murder.”
Sadness overwhelmed me as I thought about it’s baby birdies calmly awaiting the return of their mamma who was out getting food for them.
Tears streamed down my face blurring my vision. I no longer saw the wonder of nature. I no longer saw the rows and rows of the majestic agricultural life. I no longer noticed the birds playing their games, circling, full of joy and life and innocence. I just saw death. It grabbed a hold of me, choking me until I couldn’t breathe. I cried inconsolably the rest of the way. I couldn’t shake off the feeling of being a birdy murderer.
I managed to get through the day and only cried a few more times while confessing my murder to my coworkers. They couldn’t understand what the big deal was. It wasn’t my fault they said. They reminded me that the bird ran into me, not the other way around. It didn’t make it less painful. I killed nature and it weighed heavy in my heart.
All this changed the next morning as I woke up and my WHOLE WINDSHIELD was cracked. The small dime sized blemish had spread like wildfire! Stupid ass frikkin’ bird! Shit! Damn! #$#&* What the hell was it thinking running into me like that? Why couldn’t it have committed it’s birdy suicide elsewhere? Jerk ass mothacracker! Suddenly all the pain and guilt disappeared and was replaced by anger.
His eyes no longer screamed out, “MURDERER!” Instead, they taunted me. That bird knew what it was doing to me and it was laughing at me, even after death. Thinking back, it probably wasn’t even a momma bird. It was probably a rebel teenage bird playing chicken with it’s other stupid teenage rebel bird friends. They probably dared him to fly towards me and then veer off at the last minute. A teenage birdy tragedy that cost it’s life, and me $500.
I did learn one thing, however… a cracked windshield can’t wait. You have to repair them as soon as possible.